Sentimentality Costs

I sit here looking out the window. In my line of vision are the roses The Man bought me for our anniversary. They are yellow roses flushed with red at the edges. I separated the bouquet, trimmed each rose, put them in their own individual glasses, and lined them up along the window sill. I change the water every day. The buds are opening up slowly. As the petals spread, they look like crisp chips...maybe candied wafers. They look edible, like they would burst with freshness sweet and light if I put the petals on my tongue.

I am thinking how lucky I am that The Man brings me flowers. Often for no reason.

Before The Man, my boyfriends didn't give me flowers. If they did, I don't remember.

When The Man started bringing me flowers, I dismissed the gesture at first as too formal, too ceremonious. He said at the time, No, it's an expression of affection. Then I dismissed it as being too intimate. You give flowers to the one you love, not to someone you're just having sex with.

But he kept bringing them anyway. I got used to it. I took it for granted that's what he does, that's his thing. Like staring out the window is my thing. It's nothing personal.

He's been bring me flowers for 20 years. During this time, I've grown to appreciate flowers. I give them to others. Sometimes, I even buy them for myself. As a buyer of flowers now, I realize how personal the giving of flowers is.

The flower is a temporal thing. It bloom for a short time then dies. But during its bud and bloom, when you can capture the thing in its most glorious state, you gift that to someone. That's the essence of the giving. And then there is the selection of colour, kind of bloom, type of complementary florals, shape of the arrangement. It's all very personal.

Then I read an article this week about the flower selling industry. Most of the flowers we buy in the city come from Columbia and Equador, grown by women slave labour. That's how producers keep the costs low. Flowers arrive by jet, drenched in pesticide. The farming and distribution of flowers devastate the earth.

How do you like that? How do you like having your sentiments exploited and negatively impact the earth? And here I was, with my simple complaint that so many flowers don't carry a scent any more.

The solution? Grow your own in summer. Buy organic and fair trade.

First, I tell them not to buy me chocolates. Now I have to ask The Man and The Boy not to buy me flowers any more. Unless they buy certified organic and fair trade. Nothing is simple any more. Sometimes, I think there is reason in my ogre-y ways.